


On The Roof Again

by Jackdaw816



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Existential Crisis, Gen, Immortality, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:06:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24146356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jackdaw816/pseuds/Jackdaw816
Summary: Rooftops are where immortals go to dwell
Relationships: Jack Harkness/Ianto Jones, Jack Harkness/John Hart, implied Andy Davidson/John Hart
Comments: 6
Kudos: 40





	On The Roof Again

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from [the song of the same name](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rbvXG9tMyJk) by Eve6.
> 
> This idea came to me a week ago when I was very tired, but I'm very glad with how it turned out. This takes place in a 'verse where Exit Wounds and CoE happened but ended with the entire team intact. And then expanded to include some of my favorites.

“You know, Eye Candy wasn’t kidding when he said you were good on roofs.” The familiar drawl caught Jack by surprise. He turned to see John Hart sauntering toward him, tacky coat still open despite the wind and the chill of the night. “Although, why at night is beyond me. There’s not exactly a view.” Jack frowned and stepped down off the ledge.

“I know for a fact that you did not hear the conversation you just quoted,” Jack said, pointedly ignoring his second statement. John just shrugged.

“Eye Candy and I talk.” Jack raised an eyebrow. “He certainly has a lot to say about you.” John halted a few metres away, and Jack was reminded of the last time they were on this roof. But that was a long time ago, and things had changed.

“Since when do you and _Ianto_ talk?” Jack asked, overemphasising Ianto’s name. John calmly met his eyes. 

“Since you keep leaving _Ianto’s_ flat to come stand in the cold.” John retorted, mimicking Jack’s enunciation. “He called you. Twice. You didn’t pick up, so he called me next.” Jack flinched, then tried to hide it as a shiver. “You’re just lucky I bothered to drag my arse out into the night. Do you know what time it is?” Jack looked away, back out across the city.

“How’d you find me?” Jack asked, avoiding the question. John clicked his tongue.

“You think I don’t have a tracker on you? Amateur.” Jack whipped his head around.

“You what?” Jack said, his tone low. He thought John was better than that, at least now anyway. John hooked his thumbs in his belt loop and grinned. 

“Joking.” Jack scowled at him, but he didn’t let the grin fade. “Ianto said to check the roofs, and I had a hunch you’d be here.” John walked closer and looked over the edge. Jack didn’t follow his gaze, but he knew what was down there. 

“It’s history,” Jack said faintly. It had been so long since that night, but so much had changed. There had been so many close calls, so many times he’d almost lost his team. They were all safe, somehow. Even the new additions. Lately, though, he couldn’t help but dwell. John looked back up and met Jack’s eyes. “It’s all ancient history.” 

“History, huh?” John remarked, shaking his head slightly. “Then why are you here, with me, and not back home with your boyfriend?” Jack flinched, but only slightly. John put his hand on Jack’s arm, and Jack swore that he could feel the heat through his coat.

“You remember the last time we were up here?” Jack phrased it as a question, but they both knew it wasn’t. John glanced around, then nodded.

“Been a few years, but yeah.” John looked back, and Jack could see regret flicker across his face. “I pushed you off the roof.” Jack nodded stiffly. John exhaled, his breath clouding in the cold. He looked almost guilty, which was strange. Even now, John Hart never looked guilty. 

“It was the night I came back and decided to stay for good,” Jack said, his voice soft. He knew John could hear him, but he made no effort to change his volume. “Was only coincidence that it was the same night you came.” John scoffed.

“It’s always a coincidence. Fate and luck, and the universe being a stone-cold bitch,” John said bitterly, reaching into his coat. He pulled out a flask and took a long swig. He wordlessly offered it to Jack, but Jack shook his head. John took another drink.

“The universe wants us around for some reason.” Jack reasoned. John laughed.

“Hence her being a stone-cold bitch,” John said roughly, before gesturing grandly at the skyline. “What benevolent force would condemn someone to this for all eternity?” Jack sighed.

“Okay, first of all, we don’t know it’s for all eternity.” John gave him a death glare. Jack raised his hands in surrender. “Hey, I’m just saying.” John looked out across the city. He was shaking, but Jack knew it wasn’t because of the cold. He tried to put his hand on John’s shoulder, but John smacked it away. 

“You don’t know shit.” John hissed. He raised the flask again, but judging by the look on his face, it was empty. Jack’s suspicions were confirmed when he threw it off the roof. It flew far, eventually hitting the ground with a barely-audible clatter. Jack almost teased John about littering, but the look in his eyes stopped him. Maybe later.

“I don’t know much,” Jack admitted. He took a careful step closer and was relieved when John didn’t move away. “But I’ve been through this. Had this exact same breakdown.” John snorted.

“I am _not_ having a breakdown,” John said, obviously having a breakdown. Jack raised an eyebrow but didn’t cut in. “I’m just… processing.” Jack nodded. It was rare that John talked about anything of substance. Anything personal at least. And cutting in at the wrong time would be nothing but harmful. 

John pounded a fist on the ledge. His eyes were darting about, manic, but the rest of his body had gone almost completely still. Jack just stuck his hands in the pocket of his coat and waited. It was always best to wait with John. Best case, he got mad and punched Jack. Worst case, well, they were still on a roof. A few minutes passed, silent except for their breathing. Then John spoke.

“How do you cope?” His voice was distant, not at all like John Hart. Jack had only heard this voice once before, back when he was still Javic and John wasn’t John. It had been about four years into the time loop when they were really starting to lose hope. John had snapped, almost killed Jack, then cried into his arms. That was the night Jack had told him about Gray, and it was one of the worst nights of his life.

John looked better now, if only marginally. He hadn’t tried to kill Jack yet, so that was a definite plus. But he wasn’t crying, a fact that made Jack feel uneasy. He reached out slowly and took John’s hand. John gripped his hand, so tight it was painful, but Jack didn’t pull back. 

“How?” John asked again. “How the fuck can you stay in this horrible world?” He took a deep shuddering breath and Jack squeezed his hand back. “I said I pitied you, back on that night.” He made a choked noise that might have been mistaken for a sob coming from anyone else. “Now I’m just as pitiful.” Jack resisted the urge to pull John into his arms.

“Immortality is a curse,” he said instead. “People think it’s a blessing to live forever. They’re wrong,” John laughed, a choked little noise bubbling out of his throat.

“See, if there was an out, then yeah. Living forever would be nice,” John agreed. “‘Cause then it’s _getting_ to live forever. You have a fucking choice!” He drew a gun with his free hand, and Jack tried not to flinch. John gripped the handle tightly, but his finger was off the trigger. Good sign.

“I know,” Jack said carefully. “And you’re right. We don’t have a choice about how long we live.” John gnashed his teeth and dropped Jack’s hand. He took a step away, the gun luckily still pointed off the roof.

“You know, that was always the best method of torture,” John said blithely. “You take away their choice. Sure, sometimes you give them the illusion, but this? This knowing that no matter what you do, you’re fucked?” John laughed again, this time a truly mournful sound. “This is hell. Never really believed in it, but I think I do now.”

“John, I’ve been through hell. Literal hell.” Jack said adamantly. John raised an eyebrow. “Long story, I’ll tell you later. The point is, this isn’t hell. Not even close.” Jack took a step closer, and lightly took John’s wrist. The gun in his other hand twitched, but Jack didn’t blink. “Hell is being alone. The only living creature for light-years.” John tried to pull his hand away, but Jack tightened his grip.

“Let go of me,” John snapped. The gun spun around and aimed at Jack’s forehead. Jack didn’t doubt that he would pull the trigger. But he didn’t drop the hand.

“No.” His finger twitched onto the trigger. “Because one day, I’m all you’ll have left.” John didn’t fire, and Jack took that as a sign to keep talking. “One day, this planet will be gone. This galaxy. Ilsari. Boeshane. Naxos. Everything will be gone. Except for us.” John’s face was impassive, but his eyes were dark. “I’ve seen the end of the universe once, and I’ll see it again.” John blinked in shock, but Jack wasn’t done. “This time with _you_. And I’m so grateful for that.” John dropped the gun, the metal clattering against the stone, and he stopped struggling against Jack’s grip. 

“I was right,” John said slowly. “Even with all that life, all that time, it takes the end of the bloody universe to get you to spend time with me.” Jack was so shocked, he let John go. The smaller captain instantly jumped up on the ledge, and out of Jack’s reach. Jack tried to meet his eyes, but he glanced away and rubbed at his wrist.

“That’s not at all what I was saying,” Jack said, bewildered. “You’re not a consolation prize.” John scoffed.

“I’m always second best,” John bit out. “Your former partner. And I get it. I’m a reminder of the old you. The version that you were glad to leave behind.” John looked back, and even in the gloom, Jack couldn’t mistake the tears forming in his eyes. “But you left me too.” Jack flinched, “And I love you, god, I love you but it fucking hurts.” He turned away again, coat pulled tight around his frame.

“John-”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. Jack was stunned. John rarely cried, and Jack could count on one hand the number of times he’d genuinely apologized. For both to happen in one night-

“What happened?” Jack asked. John didn’t look back, but he shrugged. “This wasn’t just brought up by me. So what happened?” 

“Just like you to deflect blame,” John said bitterly. “Gotta keep that golden boy image after all.” Jack raised an eyebrow, and even though John couldn’t see him, he sighed in defeat. “This time, you’re right. It wasn’t you, although you were absolutely zero help.” John said, dropping to sit on the ledge, his legs dangling over the edge. Jack sat as well, facing inward, and still out of arm’s reach.

“What happened?” Jack asked again, internally reviewing the events of the day. It had been pretty straightforward for Torchwood. Retrieval of some alien scrap metal, a hearty Weevil chase later in the day, oh, and Lois and Ianto had gotten in a row about the Archives. All in all, a pretty good day, definitely not a traumatising one. Unless you counted a file being refiled two spots off to be traumatising.

“I died,” John said bluntly. Jack blinked in surprise. This was news. Neither of them really shared their deaths, with the team, or with each other. They weren’t quite that close anymore.

“I’m sorry,” Jack said awkwardly. He’d never really worked out what you were supposed to say to an immortal upon news of their demise. Is that how everyone else felt when he died? He may have owed some apologies to his team. “How?” John waved a hand in the air dismissively.

“Stupid really,” John muttered. “Was heading back to my flat, and the Weevil we lost during the hunt earlier jumped me. Tore out my throat.” Jack instinctively found himself looking over John as if the pale skin of his neck would show any sign of his earlier trauma. “Had to retcon a witness when I woke up, such a bloody mess.” He wasn’t sure if John was referring to the scene itself or the hassle of witnesses. He didn’t want to ask.

“Okay,” Jack said slowly. “But you’ve died before. At least…” Jack tried to count the times John had died in the six months he’d been immortal. It was hard because he could only think of once. The coral shrapnel from the Rift storm that had cursed him with his immortality in the first place. That couldn’t be the only time. Could it? “You’ve died before.” Jack finished, his lack of confidence evident. 

“Twice,” John said, taking pity on him. “Before tonight, it was only twice.” It still seemed like far too low a number. John glanced over and saw the confusion on Jack’s face. “Just because you’ve gotten sloppy with immortality, doesn’t mean I have. I survived for decades on training and luck. I’m not going to just allow myself to die from something avoidable.” Jack still thought he was nuts, but he nodded anyway.

“When was the second time?” he asked instead. John cocked his head. “Rift storm was the first, Weevil was the third and last. The second time was?” John shot him a sharp glance, and Jack almost withdrew the question. Then he sighed and rubbed at his eyes.

“Overdose. About four months ago.” Jack gave him a concerned look, and he laughed, the most genuine laugh Jack’d heard from him all night. “It wasn’t intentional if that’s what you’re wondering. And you don’t get to scold me for using either. I don’t show up to work high, and it’s not like it can do permanent damage anymore,” Jack wanted to argue, there was a reason he didn’t really drink but that felt like a discussion for another night.

“Alright.” Jack agreed reluctantly. “You’ve died before. But I had this breakdown-” John glared at him, and he hastily amended his phrasing. “I had this, uh, realisation right away. After my first or second death, so within a couple of days. For you, it’s been six months. And you’ve died three times.” Jack drummed his fingers on the ledge. “So why now?” John looked like he’d rather die than answer, but given as that was counterintuitive, he sighed.

“Not sure.” Was the answer he gave after a few moments of silence. “But I think-” he cut himself off, but Jack made a ‘go on’ gesture. “I think it’s because I can’t write it off anymore. Not as luck, or skill, or any of the things that kept me alive before.” John’s leg twitched, the heel of his boot striking against the ledge with a dull thud. “I knew that coral had regenerative properties, but I told myself it was single-use. I ignored the bruises that healed in minutes, wrapped up the slash from that Hoix last month. Pretended like it hadn’t healed by morning.” Jack frowned.

“You told me the Hoix hadn’t hurt anyone,” Jack said, disappointed, but not surprised. John shrugged.

“Close enough.” And something in that statement made Jack want to press, but then John was talking again. “When I overdosed, I almost believed it then. No one found me after. I would have been a dead man.” John smiled then, all teeth with nothing in his eyes. “Instead, I convinced myself that this century’s drugs were just weak and that I’d only passed out. All so I could keep the wool over my eyes.”

“But even you couldn’t con someone into believing they’d survived their throat being torn out. Even if it was yourself you were conning.” Jack said, connecting the dots. John shrugged. 

“I could have. I had Retcon.” He sighed, then pulled one knee up to his chest. When his arms wrapped loosely around the limb, Jack was reminded of a time years and years ago. It was something of a comfort position for John, a way he settled when things were rough. Whether it was a tradition from home or something he’d developed on his own, Jack couldn’t say. When he’d asked once, John had muttered something in his first language, then refused to elaborate. Jack’d get it out of him eventually. It wasn’t like he didn’t have time.

“But you couldn’t make yourself choose to forget,” Jack stated, forcing his thoughts back to the topic at hand. John shook his head. 

“It wouldn’t have done any good. Retcon only would have postponed the inevitable.” John said bitterly. He patted his coat, then seemed to remember that he’d disposed of his flask. With a huff, he got to his feet, shooting upward in a flurry of fabric. He balanced well on the ledge, but for a heart-stopping moment, Jack thought he’d fall.

“So now you know for sure,” Jack said, again forcibly distracting himself. “You’re just like me. You’re immortal.” John made a noise deep in his throat that Jack was pretty sure meant ‘yes, but fuck you’. Jack stood, stepping up on the ledge beside John. “But as I said, it’s not hell. We’re in this together now, whether we like it or not.” John eyed him warily.

“It’s a good thing I love you, or I’d shoot you for lying to me,” John said bitterly. But the bitterness was forced, and Jack could tell that he was trying not to smile. Looked like the storm was passing over. Jack stepped closer and took John’s hand.

“I’m not having sex with you,” Jack warned. John just rolled his eyes.

“Give it time,” he said playfully. “I’ll have you again.” Jack didn’t doubt that. They had forever now, and Jack had loved him once. But he loved Ianto too, needed him. John may have been his first love, but Ianto was the love of his life.

“Just be careful,” Jack said mildly. “Ianto’ll put you on decaf if he catches you flirting.” John laughed, a sound of pure mirth. Jack raised an eyebrow, slightly confused. The threat of decaf was enough to stop most people in their tracks. But John seemed unphased. 

“First of all, I don’t drink coffee,” John said once the laughter died down. “Absolutely no clue how you missed that.” Jack frowned. They all drank coffee, right? But try as he might, he couldn’t remember seeing John with a mug in his hand. Huh. John cleared his throat.

“And second,” he continued once Jack’s attention was properly back on him. “Eye Candy is welcome to join us anytime.” John leaned in close to Jack’s ear. “You know he’d enjoy himself.” John nipped at his earlobe before pulling back. He dropped Jack’s hand and took a few steps down the ledge.

Jack didn’t say anything. He didn’t want to encourage John, even though he was right. He’d be completely insufferable if he knew that Ianto had mentioned something similar not too long ago. That was a reveal for a later time, after he’d talked to Ianto again.

“Jack?” John asked suddenly, staring out across the city again. “Could you do something for me?” Jack raised an eyebrow. This was a night for rarities, it seemed. John asking semi-politely for something.

“Depends on what it is,” Jack said carefully. He started running through a list of what John could want: sex, money, weapons, tech, drugs, even help with a con. He may be working for Torchwood, but he still touted himself as a freelancer. Jack let it slide, after making him swear to report anything dangerous and not to kill anyone. He was about 90% certain that John had listened.

John looked back over toward him. Jack met his eyes and could read nothing in their depths. Jack just hoped that whatever was asked of him, it would be something he could do. He hated to let people down. Even John.

“Kill me,” John said bluntly. Okay, there was no way he could have guessed that. And no way he was going to do that. Especially when it seemed so clearly counterproductive.

“What? No.” Jack said as soon as his mouth caught up to his brain. “Why?” John shrugged.

“What does it matter to you?” He said. Jack wasn’t sure if he was lying or not, and that hurt somewhere deep. John noticed his hesitation and raised an eyebrow. “Oh come on. You can’t say that you haven’t wanted to kill me.” 

“That’s true,” Jack admitted. “But not anymore. I’ve forgiven you. There’s no point now. I don’t want to kill you.” 

“Why? Don’t tell me you’ve gotten squeamish,” John teased, the frivolity in his voice not matching his words. “Come on then, push me off. One good shove, and we’ll be even.” He stepped closer, deliberately putting himself in Jack’s range. “Call it justice or self-defense, whatever you need to justify it to yourself.” He grabbed the front of Jack’s coat, and for a second, he thought they’d both go over. “But kill me.”

“No,” Jack said although it was much less confident than before. He hated that part of himself was considering it. But maybe it was what John needed, someone he trusted to help him work through it. John dropped his coat but didn’t move back. They were close enough now that Jack could feel John’s breath on his neck.

“Fine,” John said shortly. “We’ll do this the hard way.” Jack heard a familiar click and felt something press up against his stomach. Jack grinned but bit back the obvious joke when he heard the gun cock. Damn John and his twin pistols. “Kill me, or I’ll kill you.” Judging from the angle, Jack didn’t doubt that the shot would be lethal. They were experts at death, the two of them.

“What do you get from this, John?” Jack asked sadly, refusing to break eye contact. “Are you trying to hurt me? Or are you hoping that it’s still a fluke, that you’re still mortal?” The gun dug harder into his side.

“Stop asking pointless questions and just do it already,” John snarled. But he wasn’t mad, just eager. “Eye for an eye, push for a push,” Another ‘no’ was on the tip of Jack’s tongue, but he couldn’t bring himself to say it. John’s goading (and his gun) had won out, and Jack threw his hands up in the air.

“Fine,” Jack said, feeling the surrender weigh like a stone in his stomach. “Just put the gun away. Please.” John grinned, and the pressure vanished as quickly as it had appeared. He took a step back and put the pistol securely back in its holster.

“Whatever you say, love,” John said, just a hint of glee evident in his tone. “You’re the one doing me a favour, after all.” Jack resisted the urge to just pitch himself off the building as an out. He had a high tolerance for doing the dirty work, he had to with the life he’d lived. Even so, assisting a suicide (even an impermanent one) hit him wrong.

“Stop talking.” Jack snapped, stepping down from the ledge. “And turn around.” He could do this. He had done this before. He’d done much worse before. 

“Yes, sir,” John drawled, spinning on his heel and facing the skyline. Jack looked at his back and swallowed hard. One little push. One small act of murder. “The longer you draw it out, the worse it’ll get, Jack.” His tone would have been patronising if Jack hadn’t have known him better. This was John’s attempt at sympathy.

Jack took a deep breath and placed his hand on John’s back. John shivered at his touch, or maybe it was a flinch. He couldn’t tell. He was suddenly aware of just how silent it was, how easily he could hear John’s breathing. It was soft, not at all like the breathing of a man about to die.

“I’m sorry,” Jack whispered. Then he gripped the fabric of John’s coat and pulled him back. John flailed, then fell rather ungracefully into Jack’s arms. John tried to get loose, but Jack gripped him tight, halfway between a hug and a pin.

“Jack, let me go,” John said coldly, still squirming. He tried to knee Jack in the crotch, but Jack was ready for it and managed to block him. He knew John’s tricks rather well.

“No,” Jack panted. “I can’t. I can’t kill you,” John laughed sharply.

“Now who’s the liar?” John mocked. “You can kill anyone you please, even me. What I don’t understand is why you don’t want to.” Now Jack laughed mirthlessly.

“Because I’m not an addict like you. I don’t get off on pain.” Jack snarled next to John’s ear. John jerked, slamming his head into Jack’s nose. A familiar pain raced through his face, that was definitely broken. It wouldn’t take long to heal, but it was a nuisance and an effective distraction. Jack only loosened his grip a little, but it was enough for John to slip away.

“I know,” John replied, back up on the ledge, leering down at him. Jack had a hand over his nose, trying to keep the blood from dripping onto his coat. “But you don’t need to be like me. You just needed to kill me.” He smiled sadly while Jack looked up at him. “But I should have known you couldn’t do it. You hate me, you love me, but you can’t kill me.”

“John,” Jack said, suddenly connecting the dots that were fairly obvious in hindsight. “Please come down.” John gave a sharp nod. Jack was relieved for about three seconds before he noticed the grin spreading on John’s face.

“Fine,” John said, and he didn’t even try to lie convincingly. “I’ll go down.” And before Jack could do more than blink, John jumped off the roof. To be more accurate, he did a goddamn standing backflip off the roof. Jack was almost impressed.

“Shit,” Jack swore, internally cursing John’s flair for dramatics. He rushed to the edge in time to hear the thud of his body on the ground. Or rather, on the same bench Jack had died on all that time ago. He couldn’t help it, he laughed.

“Don’t think you could get much more karmic than that,” Jack said to the air. He laughed again, some fucked-up mixture of amusement and grief. He scooped up John’s gun from where it had fallen, clicked on the safety, then tucked it in his belt. He turned and headed for the stairwell. He had clean-up to do.

Waiting for the lift, Jack dug in his coat for his mobile. If he remembered the Rift shifts (as Ianto had dubbed the new rota for night shift) correctly, then Andy should be on watch tonight. Perfect. He might be able to keep this whole night under wraps. Jack hit the speed dial, and after two rings, a familiar Welsh tone answered.

“Jack? What’s going on?” The lift arrived and Jack stepped in.

“Call your old friends at the precinct,” Jack said, tone firmly that of the boss. “Tell them to disregard any 999 calls or reports they get about this location.” Jack told him the address, and he heard rustling on the other end of the line. 

“Is it a spooky-do? Need me to call in the others?” Jack grinned. Even after months of working for Torchwood, Andy hadn’t dropped the moniker. Owen and Mickey complained, but everyone else found it endearing.

“No, not a spooky-do.” His tone turned quiet. “John died.” Hiding immortality was a thing of the past. They had enough secrets already. “Fell off the roof. I’m taking care of him, I just need you to keep the police away.” 

“Okay,” Andy said, tactfully not asking why Jack and John were on a roof together at half past three in the morning. “Do you need me to call Martha? Or Owen?” The lift dinged on the ground floor.

“No!” Jack said a little harsher than he intended. “I would appreciate if you could keep this quiet, Andy.” He instructed as he left the lift. “For John’s sake.” John and Andy had a really close bond; one that Jack didn’t completely understand, but nevertheless respected. John was sweet around him, a rare side to the multifaceted conman.

The team actually had a bet about it. Owen was convinced they were shagging while Gwen was adamant that Andy was straight. Jack was pretty sure they were both right. John said they were both wrong when he’d been asked. Andy just blushed whenever anyone brought it up.

“Alright. Have him call me when he’s back.” Andy said, then promptly hung up. Jack pulled the mobile away from his ear and stared at it. He’s normally the one to hang up, and for a second, he’s tempted to call Andy back and remind him of that. But then he’d moved toward the glass revolving door and he could almost see John outside, and he remembered that this was a secret, more or less, so he let it slide.

As he got closer to the bench, Jack shivered. John really was dead, but not in the same way he had been. It looked like he’d cracked his head on the centre of the bench, then slumped over to one side. If it hadn’t been for the blood, and the sickening way his legs were twisted, you could almost believe he was sleeping. Almost.

His eyes were open. Blue-grey eyes looking at Jack with nothing behind them. Even eerier was his mouth, still twisted into a grin. A trickle of blood had run down his face from his hairline. Jack crouched beside him and swiped at the blood with his thumb. It did nothing but smear and Jack sighed. He didn’t know what he had expected

“You really had to jump off a building, didn’t you?” Jack said softly. “Couldn’t just accept being alive, invincible and unaging. Mostly.” Jack grinned. “You’ll like the unaging part. ‘Course probably would’ve liked it better if it had happened a few years ago, you vain idiot.” Dimly aware that he was currently talking to a corpse, Jack turned his attention to something else.

John’s right arm was pinned under himself, but his vortex manipulator was clearly visible. For a moment, Jack considered taking it and leaving. Now that’d truly be an eye for an eye. John’d probably even appreciate the irony as long as he got it back later. Jack reached to undo the leather bracer when a mobile rang.

Jack’s first thought was that it was his own. But no, that wasn’t his ringtone. Jack looked around, but there was no one in sight, let alone close enough to hear their mobile ring. A few seconds passed before Jack realized that it was John’s. And then a few more before he realised he should probably answer it.

He carefully pulled open John’s coat. Now that he was closer, he could see a few dried, but fairly recent bloodstains on the fabric. Probably from his earlier death, although his grey shirt was (fairly) clean, so he’d must have changed afterward. The coat was full of hidden pockets and holsters, and it took Jack a bit to find the mobile. 

Jack pulled it free of its holster, but it stopped ringing before he could answer. Jack swore and got to his feet, mobile still in hand. The screen lit up, one missed call and a couple of texts. It seemed completely undamaged, impressive after a multiple storey fall.

The texts were from a ‘PC Blondie’ and an unsaved number. Probably Andy, the only blond on the team. The unsaved number was probably some idiot who fell for John’s charms and thought he’d give them more than a night. Purely speculation, but Jack knew his patterns well.

The call was from ‘Eye Candy.’ Ianto. Jack quickly unlocked the phone (John still used the same code for everything) and called Ianto back. He answered on the very first ring.

“What’s taking so long?” Ianto said, his tone stern. Jack cleared his throat.

“Hey, Ianto.” There was a moment of stunned silence, and Jack could just imagine the look on his face. When he responded, his voice was much calmer.

“Why do you have John’s mobile?” Ianto asked. Jack could almost hear him frown over the line. “I’m fairly certain I did call John.” Jack cast a glance at John. Still dead, although his legs were slowly starting to mend.

“You did. He’s just… unavailable right now.” Jack lied shoddily. Ianto saw right through him.

“It’s too early for this bullshit, Jack. He’s dead, right?” Jack made an affirming noise. Ianto sighed heavily. “Please tell me you didn’t kill him. I was the reason he was out there to begin with, and I really don’t need him playing the victim.” Jack turned away from John, pacing while they talked.

“No, no, it wasn’t that. He just had his immortality crisis.” Jack said, naming it on the fly.

“Immortality crisis?” Ianto asked disbelievingly. “Is that even a thing?” Jack shrugged.

“Well, there’s not really a proper name for it. Not too many immortals in the universe, and not many who would care to admit it. But yeah. He got killed by a Weevil earlier, and it turns out that he’s been in denial. He had a proper mental breakdown, I tried to talk him through it, and he jumped off the roof.” Jack explained, intentionally leaving out John’s initial plan. No need to distress him more.

“Jesus,” Ianto said simply. “Did that happen to you?” Jack nodded, then remembered he was on the phone.

“A long, long time ago. Within a week of my first death.” Jack smiled tightly. “I died at least three more times before I came to terms.” More stunned silence.

“So are we going to have to put John on some sort of suicide watch until he gets it out of his system?” Ianto asked after about a minute. Jack knew this kind of deflection, and he gratefully went with it.

“Maybe. I didn’t have anyone to help me through it. He at least has me.” Jack looked over at John again. His legs looked fully mended, and he knew it wouldn’t be long before his head healed too. “I’ll probably need to stay with him tonight though. I’m sorry.” Jack apologised. “I know you sent him out here after me. And I’m sorry that I left you.”

“S’alright,” Ianto said although Jack knew it wasn’t. “I know I can’t expect you to sleep the entire night with me. Rather pointless.” Jack resisted the urge to sigh or cluck his tongue. They’d had this same conversation before, back when Jack still spent every night in the bunker under his office. Now with the new rota, that was only his bed maybe three days a month. He couldn’t deny it was far better now.

“But it’s not pointless. The point is to be with you.” For as long as we have, Jack added silently. “I’m sorry that I keep leaving. I promise I’m not running away from you, or to someone else.”

“You’re just running,” Ianto said knowingly. “I know.” Ianto’s cool acceptance twisted something in Jack’s stomach.

“I-” love you. God, how he had wanted to say it. But he just couldn’t. No matter how true it was. “I’m sorry,” Jack said instead.

“I know,” Ianto said fondly. “I love you too.” Jack beamed. He wasn’t entirely convinced that Ianto wasn’t psychic, but damn, he loved him. Before Jack could say anything else, John gasped back to life. He glanced over at Jack, and Jack held up a finger in a ‘wait’ gesture.

“John’s back. I have to go. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Jack said quickly. He was about to hang up when he heard Ianto’s voice again.

“Wait!” Jack waited, while John glared at him from the bench. “If you need to stay with him, can you just bring him back here?” Jack raised an eyebrow.

“Are you sure?” Ianto and John got on well enough, but they weren’t exactly jumping at the bit for a sleepover. Was Ianto that desperate to have Jack with him?

“Yeah. Suicide watch, right? Two heads are better than one.” Jack blinked, surprised. “Just bring him home. I’ll see you soon, Jack.” Then before Jack could say anything else, Ianto hung up. Second time tonight, what was with that? John cleared his throat.

“Now that you’re done with your truly riveting conversation, can I have my mobile back?” John asked dryly. Jack lobbed it to him, and he fumbled it, clattering onto the bench beside him. “Shit.”

“Yeah, fine motor skills aren’t fantastic after you break your skull hard enough to die,” Jack said, stepping closer. He pulled John’s gun out and passed it back to him. John tucked it away, hands only trembling slightly. “Should be fine by morning though.” John reached up and ran a hand through his hair. It came back red with blood. “You’ll also need a shower, head wounds bleed a lot.”

“I know that, smartass.” John snapped, shoving his mobile back in his coat. “What I don’t know is why you had my mobile.” Jack raised his hands in surrender. 

“Relax, it’s not like I went through your messages or anything.” John raised an eyebrow. “Ianto called and I answered. Although you might want to change your passcode.” John scoffed.

“Great, take a dead man’s calls. What are you going to do next, take my wallet?” The question was sarcastic, but Jack’s eyes darted guiltily to his vortex manipulator. John followed his sightline, then protectively closed his hand over it. Jack was about to apologize, but then John was laughing. He cut off abruptly with a wince of pain, hand going to his ribs.

“Are you alright?” Jack asked, concerned. Sometimes lesser wounds stuck around for a bit, but never to this degree. Jack wondered for a moment just how different their immortalities were. John waved his blood-stained hand dismissively.

“I’m immortal. Of course, I’m alright.” He laughed again, more cautiously this time. “Would have served me right if you had taken it and left me. Proper revenge.” Jack shook his head. 

“I don’t need revenge. I’ve already forgiven you.” John looked up at him, eyes wide with shock. “And as much as you’ve hurt me, I don’t hate you.” John looked like he was about to protest, then thought better of it and stood up. He took a step and would have fallen if Jack hadn’t swooped in to catch him.

“What?” John asked, his tone almost scared. Jack couldn’t blame him.

“You broke both your legs when you fell,” Jack explained. “Probably landed feet first then hit your head on the stone centre.” John looked back at the bench, complete with bloodstain, and swallowed hard.

“Right.” He got back to his feet, able to stand as long as Jack supported him. “Are the aftereffects supposed to last this long?”

“Not sure. It’s probably fine given the severity of your injuries.” Jack said, not so much lying as omitting. John was healing slower, but not by much. And obviously he was making complete recoveries, so Jack was sure it was all fine. Probably.

“Brilliant,” John said, completely monotone. He took a step away from Jack, but couldn’t hide the wince. Jack sighed.

“Hold on,” he warned, then bent and picked John up in one smooth motion. John let out an undignified squeak, fingers digging into Jack’s coat. When he’d adjusted to his new position, he relaxed his grasp and smiled up at Jack.

“A bridal carry? Romantic.” John teased, discomfort forgotten.

“Stop it,” Jack said sternly. “This is just so you don’t bitch about having to walk on recently broken legs.”

“Whatever you say,” John said, practically relaxing in Jack’s grasp. Jack sighed and started to walk away.

“I can still drop you,” Jack warned. John winked at him, but Jack knew he would stop if he asked him, so he let it slide. As much as they joked and teased, any love Jack still bore for John was completely platonic. John loved Jack, and that was _his_ problem to deal with. Wouldn’t stop Jack from being there for his oldest friend.

“Where are we going?” John asked as they approached the car park. Jack had driven the SUV and it was parked about three rows in. Two spaces down was a bright red sports car, John’s car. Jack headed for the latter. The SUV would be safe until someone could come get it, it had a triple deadlock after all. Meanwhile, John’s car was basically thieves’ bait.

Jack had chided John about how Torchwood was a secret organisation when he’d first bought it a few months ago. John had promptly reminded him about the SUV having the name carved on the bonnet and painted on the roof in yellow. There were no further complaints about the car.

“Back to my place,” Jack said as they approached the car. “Keys.” John dug in his coat and passed him the keys. It was a sign of how bad he was that he didn’t even protest at the idea of Jack driving his car. “You’re sleeping with us tonight.” John raised an eyebrow.

“Taking advantage of the injured, are we, Jack?” John teased. Jack hit the unlock button and the car clicked. He slackened his grip on John’s legs and he yelped. Jack opened the passenger door and helped John in. “Not that I’m complaining.” John leered upward. Jack sighed and shook his head.

“Just sleep, John.” He warned, walking around to the driver’s side. “I didn’t want you to be alone tonight, and Ianto agreed.” John sighed, and stretched out along the seat. Jack got in the car and put the key in the ignition.

“If I’d have known jumping off a building would get me in bed with you, I would have done it sooner.” John joked. The car roared to life, and Jack slammed a hand on the centre console. John turned sharply to look at him, then flinched when his head throbbed. Jack met his eyes.

“Don’t even kid about that,” he said, his voice low and deadly serious. “Your life isn’t a joke, and if you treat it like one, so will others. And dying hurts, as you’ve just discovered.” John tried to look away, but Jack followed his gaze. “Promise me. Don’t let your death be the punchline of anyone’s joke.” John raised an eyebrow but nodded.

“Alright. I promise,” John said. Jack exhaled, then leaned back in his seat. All the anger and adrenaline of the night was wearing off, and he was exhausted. He briefly remembered Andy asking for John to call him, but he wrote it off. Whatever they had going on, they could figure it out in the morning. He doubted John’s hands or his mind was stable enough anyway.

“Sorry.” Jack apologized, putting the car into gear and driving off. “But it’s important to know these things about immortality.” He laughed slightly. “You’re just lucky you have me. It took me hundreds of years to learn the hard way.” John just yawned. They drove for a few more minutes before John spoke.

“Thank you,” he said softly. Jack nodded.

“We’re in this together,” he responded. 

The immortals drove into the night.

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr at [shejustcalledmeafish](https://shejustcalledmeafish.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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